Distance
by Annie2
Summary: Linear distance isn't the only kind.
1. Default Chapter

Distance  
  
By Annie  
  
Rated: PG Summary: Linear distance isn't the only kind; futurefic; Clark/Lex (Clark POV) Spoilers: None Disclaimer: Still not mine, or they would spend more screen time together; also, do not own Terminator, or Kyle Reese would be alive. Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net  
  
I come here every day.  
  
It's a short flight, even if it is the hardest thing I have to do on a daily basis. I always bring a flower, just one, chosen from whatever country has the most beautiful currently-blooming flora that morning. It would be so much easier to stay at home and have coffee before work, but I need this. I need to try to cleanse the dark guilt I know I'll feel as soon as I walk into my office at the Planet, walk past the empty space where her desk used to sit. Try to purge the empty space inside me, where her trust used to be.  
  
They offered to move me, of course; no one expected me to work in that room without her. No one except myself. And not even I had expected the enormous tragedy at the warehouse that day.  
  
Never expected that Lois's intense investigation would unwittingly entangle her in a plot to kill a presidential candidate; never expected both her and said politico to end up as prisoners, bound and gagged at opposite ends of the unused cavernous warehouse.  
  
Never expected, while x-raying the warehouse on my frantic inflight that, somehow, my body would veer left, sweep the struggling, trussed-up Lex Luthor in my arms first, automatically turning toward the other end of the building to pick up Lois and get them away from there.  
  
I was always fast enough. Just not that day.  
  
Never expected the ingenious little twist on the bomb; the casing that began to erode the second or two before the bomb actually exploded, the leech of Kryptonite gas into the air I was flying through, the infinitesimal drop in my speed that cost Lois her life.  
  
Lex, too, almost, except I managed to get him out through the wall, shielded with my body as the bomb went off gloriously.  
  
I had most of Lois's files. I was close to finding the identity of the man who had stolen her from me. Who would have stolen Lex from me, if he had still been mine for the stealing. Lex and I hadn't been on the same page of life for over a decade.  
  
But I come every day. I promised her, after all, when I gave her the ring she wears even now, buried with her. I promised we'd be together every day.  
  
And so we are.  
  
I know one day he'll be here, too. His voice should startle me, but it doesn't. I hear him coming before he is anywhere near me, expensive shoes treading on cemetery grass, as comfortable here as he would be in his own office. I wonder sometimes if he truly thinks he owns the entire planet. The sounds of the bodyguards stopping a little distance behind us reminds me how far from Smallville we really are.  
  
"You come every morning. You miss her." Lex says quietly, reaching past me to place three white roses on the grass near the simple headstone. "I've been here a few times myself, but never this early in the day."  
  
He is looking at the engraving on the granite, following my own gaze.  
  
"I know," I tell him, still looking at Lois's name, edging away from him the slightest bit, unintentionally, sensing the distance we have been maintaining for so long. "I've seen the white roses. I knew it was you. Why?"  
  
"Why?" Lex repeats. "Why not?"  
  
"I wouldn't think you'd take the time. Wouldn't bother to make the trip."  
  
"Some days I'm closer." He says. "Some days the trip is too long. I think about her every day."  
  
"Don't feel the need to come here, Lex," I tell him bitterly. "It's long ago and far away since we were close enough that I expect you to pay respects to my dead fiancée."  
  
"But you come here every day. You chose your enemy over the woman you loved."  
  
I know he's looking at me then, and I force myself to turn and meet his eyes, brace myself for the hardness I'll see there. The hardness I have seen there ever since I left Smallville. Left him. Gave up on him because I could see what he was becoming and he wouldn't listen to my warnings.  
  
Left him because I was afraid to live yet another lie; afraid I wouldn't have the courage. Did it one early morning before I could change my mind, before the memory of his heat, his hands, his lips invaded me again, rendering the decision futile.  
  
"I never loved her, not enough," I say, finally accepting that lonely truth as the words leave my mouth. It's in this moment, this singular second in time, that I know. Know who I love and always have loved. Still, I have denied it. I have denied him.  
  
I see it then, the sadness behind the steel in his eyes. "You should have stayed, Clark," Lex admonishes quietly. "She might still be alive."  
  
"And you might really be dead. Long ago and far away, Lex. Way too much dirty water has gone under that bridge where we met. Too many years and too much distance between us to ever go back." I sidle a glance back to Lois' resting place, uneasy with the thought that she might somehow be able to hear me. That she will know this one secret I have never divulged to her, this pain I have tried to leave behind.  
  
"Retreat is a weakness, Superman. I won't go back. The real test of strength is in the forge ahead. There is no fate but what we make."  
  
"I saw that movie, Lex. I didn't like the ending."  
  
Flash of the smile, the real one, the one I haven't seen since that morning. Not in the newspapers, not on television, in magazines or even in pictures with the wife he lost a few years ago. It's gone quickly, fast enough that I manage to stop the movement of my hand toward him.  
  
"As I recall, you weren't happy with the whole time travel thing. Too many unanswered questions. If you could travel back in time right now, would you go back to the warehouse and save her first?"  
  
I feel the burn of unshed tears in my eyes. "Some days when I come here, I almost hate you. For a decision I made, I almost hate you. And I hate myself because if I could go back in time, I'm not sure anything would end up differently."  
  
Lex studies my face seriously for a too-long moment, brief flicker of something in his eyes that makes me feel like the Clark who existed years ago. The loved Clark, not the enemy with the alien powers, not this empty hero who has an arch nemesis as the single constant in his life. The long- ago Clark, who played pool and watched movies. The Clark who so often supersped to the huge stone mansion in the middle of the night, because he couldn't bear to be away, the Clark who spent months trying to purge the dreams and the ache of need inside.  
  
Lex clears his throat, breaks the mood, and the flicker leaves his eyes. "I have meetings today, Superman, schedules to maintain, evil plans to bring to fruition, I'm sure you're aware of all this. I'll leave you to your quiet thoughts."  
  
I take one step closer, as if I want him to stay physically, but am unable to admit it verbally. "Lex," I start, as he is turning to leave, calculated rake of his gaze down the front of my spandexed form, heat rising in me without my want or permission.  
  
"Was there something else?" he asks, eyebrow raised challengingly, discreet bodyguards a little distance away coming closer as he stops and turns back.  
  
My throat doesn't want to work, doesn't want to tell him that I'm sorry, that I want him. "No," I manage to say, looking much more casual about it than I actually feel. "There's nothing else. Thank you for bringing the flowers, Luthor," I tell him, fully in Superman mode now, vestiges of Clark well-hidden once more.  
  
Lex tilts his head slightly in farewell and turns to leave again. He turns back one more time, considering a moment before he replies to the silent question on my face.  
  
"By the way," he asks, "Which decision of yours is it that makes you hate both of us? The decision to leave me? Or the one to save me? Do you even know yourself?"  
  
He whirls to leave for real now, leaving me standing alone at her grave. I look at the stone again and the words are blurred by the salty burn in my eyes. I turn back to watch the limo move until it's too far away to see with human vision. 


	2. Distant Truth

Distant Truth  
  
By Annie  
  
Rated: PG Summary: Companion Piece to Distance; Lex POV Disclaimer: Still not mine. Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net  
  
He comes here every day.  
  
It's a short ride for me this morning, just outside the city, and I busy myself with the campaign contribution reports, mentally marking the names on the list who I know for a fact will want unsavory favors in return for their unwavering support. I think that I should just be using my own money and to hell with the others, but my advisors keep insisting it has to be done this way.  
  
I want to ditch them all, and may do that quite soon. If I can't run on my own, I shouldn't even be running.  
  
The sleek car stops at the hugely ornate cemetery gates, and as I put the window down and look out over the field of green and white, dotted everywhere with colorful blotches of tender offerings, I see him. He stands rigid, far away from the main gates on a small slope of grass, head bent toward the pink slab at his feet.  
  
I almost can't get out of the limo.  
  
I wave the chauffeur away and open the door myself, hating the toadying I am subjected to constantly throughout the day. I reach back in for the three white roses, wondering at the small count. I can certainly afford many more, but three seems just right. One for her, one for Clark, one for me.  
  
I have been here several times, but never this early in the day, and I wonder also if I came at this hour on purpose. If I want to see what will happen. Will he reach out and try to choke the life out of me in retribution for Lois Lane's death? Somehow, I think not.  
  
I walk toward him casually, unconcerned, bodyguards their usual discreet distance behind me. I hate them, too. I wanted to come alone this morning, but, of course, that wasn't allowed. Not after the warehouse. Not after the spectacular explosion that left her dead and me, inexplicably, rescued.  
  
I have tried to understand. I know Superman has x-ray vision, know he would have scoped out the entire situation before he even got there, and still.  
  
Here I was, breathing and walking. With the bodyguards, but all that would be changing soon.  
  
From now on, if I want to leave my office and walk around the block for an espresso, I'm doing it. If I don't get killed here and now, that is.  
  
The bodyguards stop a little distance from the red and blue clad hero, allowing me to get closer. I know they're watching him like a hawk, but really, how can they protect me from him? I refused to allow the guns with the Kryptonite bullets. Today, anyway, perversely wanting to test the tiny nagging theory growing in the back of my mind since that day.  
  
I make sure my step doesn't falter as I move up beside him. I know that he has heard me coming, probably heard the limo before we even turned off the highway.  
  
I reach past him and place the roses gently on the grass, nice contrast of the white on the lush green. He doesn't move; doesn't look at me.  
  
"You come every morning. You miss her." I tell him unnecessarily. "I've been here a few times myself, but never this early in the day."  
  
His gaze has not left the stone, the simple engraving announcing her name, birth and death to the world, and my own eyes follow, wondering when he might strike out, wondering how much effort he is putting into the control I can see plainly.  
  
"I know," he says, still looking at her headstone, edging the tiniest bit away from me. I feel the distance growing reluctantly, surprised to find that I would have liked it more if he'd stepped closer in anger.  
  
"I've seen the white roses," he adds. "I knew it was you. Why?"  
  
The question catches me off guard. I haven't really been expecting civil conversation. "Why?" I repeat. "Why not?"  
  
I almost hear a sigh escape. "I wouldn't think you'd take the time. Wouldn't bother to make the trip."  
  
"Some days I'm closer." I explain. "Some days the trip is too long. I think about her every day."  
  
About the fact that she's dead and I'm not.  
  
"Don't feel the need to come here, Lex," he tells me, with an edge of bitterness I can feel, a tone that chills me in the morning sun. "It's long ago and far away since we were close enough that I expect you to pay respects to my dead fiancée."  
  
I turn my head to look at him then, the sight of his face in profile so much more satisfying than the cold stone at our feet. "But you come here every day," I say again. "You chose your enemy over the woman you loved."  
  
He feels me looking at him then, turning to meet my eyes, and I barricade myself instantly. The last time I saw that look in his eyes..  
  
I can't do this anymore, Lex....Of course I love you, I've loved you since that first day, I think.... too many lies, too much manipulation and you won't stop..the future will take care of itself..I have enough to hide from the world without worrying about having to lie for you too...please Lex, just let me go....I love you, but I just can't...I'll always love you, Lex....Bye, Lex...Bye, Lex  
  
was the last time I actually had the chance to look into his eyes, long ago and far away, like he said, and Smallville was further away than either of us ever knew it could be.  
  
"I never loved her, not enough," he says resignedly.  
  
Tiny ache unbidden in my cold heart, words out of me before I can stop them and I curse myself inwardly for my lack of control.  
  
"You should have stayed, Clark," I somehow find myself saying. "She might still be alive."  
  
Flash of something in his clear green eyes then, regret? "And you might really be dead." He muses. "Long ago and far away, Lex. Way too much dirty water has gone under that bridge where we met. Too many years and too much distance between us to ever go back."  
  
He glances back to Lois's grave and I wonder briefly if he has ever told her. Somehow, I know he never did and the realization hurts me, brings my protective control back.  
  
"Retreat is a weakness, Superman," I remark. "I won't go back. The real test of strength is in the forge ahead. There is no fate but what we make."  
  
"I saw that movie, Lex. I didn't like the ending."  
  
I feel the smile his statement tries to drag from me, and it surfaces before I can stop it; brought out by memories of cool evenings at the mansion, just us and closeness and I have never felt the same since then, never been able to share a game of pool, a movie, a joke, a piece of apple pie. Not with anyone, not even the wife I had for three years before she died, never shared anything with anyone without thinking of warm, strong hands on me, heated breath, crushing lips. I manage to stop the smile, just a second too late, peripherally catching sight of his hand moving toward me, and I don't mistake the determination in his eyes when that movement stops abruptly.  
  
"As I recall," I reminded him, "you weren't happy with the whole time travel thing. Too many unanswered questions. If you could travel back in time right now, would you go back to the warehouse and save her first?"  
  
It's a painful question; the answer isn't as painful to me as I expect. I see the shine of unshed tears and the hurt in his eyes, and to his credit, his voice betrays no evidence of the heartbreak his answer so obviously causes him.  
  
"Some days when I come here," he says quietly, "I almost hate you. For a decision I made, I almost hate you. And I hate myself, because if I could go back in time, I'm not sure anything would end up differently."  
  
A bitter admission on his part, and I search his face for something more, something I can almost see in his eyes, memory sense we both know we are sharing, unspoken, abandoned feelings, pushed aside that day so far away from here. I can see them rushing back between us, like the sudden smell of summer rain that you might have forgotten you really like until you open the front door and it's suddenly there, and I can't want it. I clear my throat and close the door.  
  
"I have meetings today, Superman," I inform him dismissively, "schedules to maintain, evil plans to bring to fruition, I'm sure you're aware of all this. I'll leave you to your quiet thoughts."  
  
He steps toward me, and the insane thought runs through my mind that he really is going to kill me, but he stops, and I can see him fumbling internally for words.  
  
"Lex," he begins, and I let my gaze travel pointedly down the front of him, allowing the tiny jump in my pulse, the short hitch of my breath as memory sweeps in again. He doesn't go on, sees the bodyguards beginning to head our way at his step toward me, definitely catches the crawl of my eyes across his body.  
  
"Was there something else?" I ask lightly, as if I already know there won't be, already know we have said everything we are going to be saying this early morning.  
  
I see the change, both physical and mental, which comes over him more swiftly than I could have imagined. He is, once again, the Man of Steel. My enemy.  
  
"No," he declares, not even the barest hint of emotion in his voice. "There's nothing else. Thank you for bringing the flowers, Luthor."  
  
I nod in farewell and turn to go once more. But, I have to have the last word. I turn back, and he looks at me expectantly, wordlessly.  
  
"By the way," I ponder aloud, "Which decision of yours is it that makes you hate both of us? The decision to leave me? Or the one to save me? Do you even know yourself?"  
  
It's a deliberately hurtful question, and I can't bring myself to look back at him. I feel his eyes on me all the way back to the limo, down through the gates and out to the highway. But then, I always feel his eyes on me. 


	3. Closing the Distance

Closing the Distance  
  
By Annie  
  
Rated: R Summary: The rest of the story; sequel to Distance and Distant Truth Spoilers: None. Disclaimer: Not mine. Feedback: crehnert@ptd.net  
  
He's never come here before.  
  
The French doors open, warm breeze wafting into the penthouse along with him, and the first thought that goes through Lex's mind is the location of the small lead-lined box which houses the green-stoned ring. It's in the top left drawer of the desk, across the room, and Lex knows that if he bolts for it, Superman is more than fast enough to get there first.  
  
The first step into the room sounds the alarm, and Lex's bodyguards burst in, guns at the ready, stopping in their tracks at the sight of Superman, standing in the room, hands raised in the air, vague look of amusement on his face.  
  
Lex raises a hand of his own to stay any premature firing.  
  
"War or peace tonight, Superman?" Lex asks, already knowing the answer, as Lex himself is still standing, unharmed.  
  
"Peace, Luthor. If it was war, I would have had you flown out of here before they even got into the room."  
  
Lex nods briefly in agreement and turns to the three men charged with his safekeeping.  
  
"You're dismissed. For the night. Don't come back here unless I call you."  
  
"Sir," the titular head of the team begins to protest, but Lex silences him with a look. He takes his two companions and they back out of the room, closing the door behind them.  
  
Lex walks away from the television and the stock market reports crawling across the bottom of the screen and heads for the small bar, silent question for Superman as he lifts the brandy bottle and a glass.  
  
"You know better." Superman refuses.  
  
Lex pours himself an unhealthy portion and waves toward a chair. "Right. No drinking on duty. Are you ever off duty? And why are you here? What immoral thing is it you imagine I've done today?"  
  
Superman prefers to remain standing, so Lex shrugs and leans back against his desk casually, legs resting out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Deceptively calm, a swallow of brandy as he waits for Superman to answer the question, burn of the liquid in his throat an inadequate distraction from the tightly-clothed figure in front of him.  
  
"This morning," Superman begins. "It feels like unfinished business, and I don't want that between us."  
  
Lex regards him coolly, apparent composure belied by the unseen tremble making tiny ripples in his brandy. "I was under the impression that you finished our business one morning twelve years ago in Smallville. Am I mistaken? Or were you?"  
  
"I didn't think it was a mistake, certainly not then. And if the amount of times I've had to stop you from a course of destruction is any indication, I was right."  
  
Lex digests this statement silently, searching the hero's eyes before him for some piece of the man left behind. They seem to be on even footing here, and Lex doesn't particularly relish the fact.  
  
"I don't want to have this conversation with you, Superman. I'm very busy tonight. Call LexCorp main office tomorrow, make an appointment, and I'll be happy to discuss anything that's not ancient Smallville history."  
  
There's a deliberate smirk in his voice as he says this, and, with a flash of color, Superman has left the penthouse. Lex is just about to go back to his stock reports when he feels the breeze, turns to see Flyboy has indeed returned, and is in the process of superspeed changing into street clothes; jeans; comfy tee shirt, and it's Clark now, and Lex unexpectedly needs another drink.  
  
"Can we have the conversation now, Lex?" he asks sarcastically.  
  
"Possibly. But you haven't answered my question," Lex reminds him, glass in his hand, desk at his back and, truth be told, the entire penthouse and rest of the city totally forgotten at this glimpse of the past, standing in the warm flesh before him.  
  
Clark rolls his eyes, shades of the old Clark all over him now. "Which one? You've asked me a hundred questions today, Lex. You get the answer to one of them. You pick. Which answer do you want the most? Why did I save you instead of Lois? Why am I here? Why did I leave you? Was I mistaken? Pick one if you can."  
  
Clark is deadly serious now, despite the little eye roll a few seconds ago, and Lex knows immediately which answer he wants, can hardly manage to get the words out, and still has to push, still has to have the upper hand.  
  
Lex shrugs, taking a sip from the glass again, eyes meeting Clark's over the rim of crystal, and his heart starts to pound, heat strumming through his veins, unreal sense of loss, and it's totally beyond his control.  
  
"I don't think I want any of the answers. But, I do think you want to give them to me."  
  
Lex can see Clark start to build the wall, the separation between them, and the fleeting look of sadness on Clark's face almost makes Lex regret the words, but he has to know, has to force the issue.  
  
"Don't play me, Lex," Clark says tiredly. "It's late, I've had a lot on my mind today, and I know you. I won't take this manipulation from you. This is what happened in the first place, if you remember."  
  
"I wouldn't think of it," Lex replies. "But after all, you came to me, so you must have some point to get across."  
  
Lex needs a refill and heads for the bar, silently offering one to Clark again, who shakes his head slightly, wanting one badly, but afraid of choking on the tightness in his throat tonight.  
  
"You're right," Clark admits. "I had to come here and get it all out in the open, once and for all. I'm tired of playing cowboys and Indians with you for the last decade. One, I have no idea in the universe why I flew to you first. It was a totally unconscious decision on my part, and I have agonized about it every day and night since then. I don't know if it was a mistake or not, that's kind of up to you."  
  
Lex raises the brandy to him in a gesture of gratitude. "Two?" he prompts.  
  
Clark looks down at his feet briefly, gathering thoughts or courage, something intangible to hold onto, looks back up at Lex with an openness Lex hasn't seen in a dozen years, and Lex is floored, entirely unprepared for the surge of feeling in himself at the sight, controls his expression with maximum effort, but knows Clark can see it anyway.  
  
"Two is..I'm not sure if Smallville was a mistake or not, either, " he admits quietly.  
Lex's heart stops, and the earnest look on Clark's face does nothing but twist the knife that has resided there for years. Lex can't do this, can't take that same hurt all over again, wants to reach into that desk drawer and put on that ring. Caress the man before him with the deadly jewel and watch him writhe in agony.  
  
Can't.  
  
He looks at Clark thoughtfully. "If I'm not mistaken a second time tonight, I believe I told you then that your decision was a bad call. Or words to that effect."  
  
Except, as Lex remembers the scene, it had been more like almost begging, and it had been years before he forgave Clark in his heart for reducing him to a level he'd never visited before. Or since.  
  
Clark sighs. "You did. It looks like I was right, though, when I see all these things you do, when I spend half my time trying to prevent catastrophes caused by you. How would it look, Lex, for us to still be together and you'd always be doing these barely legal and immoral things?"  
  
Sprig of hope trying to come to life inside and Lex crushes it viciously, futilely. "Personally, I don't care how anything looks. Are you asking me to take you back? After all these years?"  
  
The tone of the question demands a negative answer, but Clark doesn't want to lie, doesn't want to live a lie any longer, and with everyone but Lex gone, he has nothing. "I don't expect you to do anything. You were right this morning, when you said I miss her. She's not the only one I miss. I just wanted to let you know, see if we can come to some kind of agreement. Stop fighting."  
  
Lex lifts an eyebrow. "Détente? Lex Luthor and Superman? Hardly seems possible."  
  
The teasing tone of Lex's voice is discouraging, and Clark turns to go, through the regular door this time. No flying without the suit. Lex's words follow him, and Clark is unsure of their sincerity. Feels like Lex is taunting him, punishing him for coming here tonight.  
  
"Of course, anything's possible. Who's to say my supposedly evil plans couldn't tend to lean in a more ethical direction if they're critiqued by someone more, well, more ethical?"  
  
The teasing is gone from Lex's voice as he reaches the door, as the next words stop him just before he steps through it.  
  
"All you have to do is ask. Just ask." The words are out of Lex's mouth before he can stop them, but they speak the truth, hanging in the space between them, and Clark pauses in the doorway, trying to decide if he hears what he thinks he hears, and his breath catches in his chest painfully, squeezes around his heart and he can't turn around, can't take the chance that he's misheard, waits for affirmation to come.  
  
Affirmation doesn't, so Clark turns and Lex is still standing there, nothing on his face to reveal the truth, and Clark is sure he must have imagined it.  
  
"Lex?" he says tentatively.  
  
"I won't ever go back to Smallville, metaphorically or otherwise." He watches Clark's eyes as the hurt crawls into them and he can't do it anymore.  
  
"I will take you back. As long as the détente holds."  
  
Clark isn't breathing, stands perfectly still in the doorway, looking for even a hint of deception, and he can't find any, still can't make his legs move him back into the room. Lex reaches behind to put his glass down without even looking, takes in the sight of exquisite realization slowly overcoming the pain in Clark's eyes, and Lex is abruptly, achingly, impatient.  
  
"You're very far away over there." He hints softly.  
  
Superspeed puts Clark very much closer in an instant, and Lex's breath is stolen from him by the strong hands framing his face, the lips warming his, the "Lex," whispered into his mouth. Lex's hands reach up unbidden to twist themselves in Clark's hair, and everything is exactly as before, feels and tastes exactly the way he remembers.  
  
Clark runs his hands smoothly across the muscles of Lex's back, "Lex," breathes onto Lex's skin, lips lick his. "Lex," again, and Clark tongues Lex's lips gently, insistently, hands coming back to move deliberately, maddeningly, on Lex's face.  
  
"Say my name," Clark demands against Lex's mouth, almost unheard under the moan Lex can feel building inside. "I want to hear it, I need to hear you say it."  
  
Lex tightens his grip on the wealth of softness in his fingers and manages to speak, mostly needy sound, "Clark," finally, after years, and the word breaks him. Lex's mouth devours hungrily, and he's back against the desk, hard and painful, doesn't care, can't, can only feel the enticing heat in front of him, feels the slow, hungry kiss invading every part of him, feels Clark trembling with want against him.  
  
"How far?" Clark is murmuring into Lex's mouth, words having a hard time getting through to the part of Lex's brain that might still be verbal.  
  
Lex makes some kind of questioning sound, reluctant to give up the feel of Clark in his mouth to speak coherently.  
  
Clark pulls away from Lex, and Lex feels the loss all over, aches to pull him back, heart pounding frantically at the heated desire he sees in Clark's eyes.  
  
"How far to the bedroom?" Clark asks, moving his hands to Lex's hips, pulling them together urgently, hip to hip, hardness to hardness.  
  
"Not as far as it was this morning," Lex assures him, closing the distance between them again to reclaim Clark's mouth. 


End file.
